


what was mine is now in your possession

by cartoonheart



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (1963), Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-04
Updated: 2014-10-04
Packaged: 2018-02-19 21:42:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2403923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cartoonheart/pseuds/cartoonheart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He is a thief. </p><p>His blue box is evidence of that, but he knows that that barely scratches the surface. No, he has stolen the  hearts and minds of generations of humans. He has whisked them away across the stars, away to see the wonders of the  universe. He has stolen their time from them, their human naivety, their memories, their hearts. Sometimes  they have stolen his too.</p><p>He is a thief, but he doesn't care. Until now, he has never stolen anything that didn't want to be taken anyway.</p>
            </blockquote>





	what was mine is now in your possession

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this pre-Kill The Moon, and therefore the story reflects that. But mostly somewhat canon up until post-The Caretaker.
> 
> Heavily influenced by (and title taken from) Crowded House's 'I Feel Possessed', which you can listen to [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FhhB4ztWFbQ).
> 
> Unbetaed, so any mistakes are my own. I don't have a beta so if anyone wants to volunteer their future services, that would be great too.
> 
> I hope you like it.

He is a thief. 

His blue box is evidence of that, but he knows that that barely scratches the surface. No, he has stolen the hearts and minds of generations of humans. He has whisked them away across the stars, away to see the wonders of the universe. He has stolen their time from them, their human naivety, their memories, their hearts. Sometimes they have stolen his too.

He is a thief, but he doesn't care. Until now, he has never stolen anything that didn't want to be taken anyway.

\--

It starts innocently as first, as these things tend to do. He's muddled up the co-ordinates, or something like that, and Clara is about to walk out her front door. She is wearing her shelf-reaching shoes, and he instantly knows that she is on another of her serious dates again. They were beginning to irk him.

"I'll be back in a few hours," she says, practically waving him back into the TARDIS, and that irks him too. 

"I'm not going to wait here, if that's what you thinking," he grumbles, trying to make a point, even though he finds that lately she listens less, and he acquiesces more. It is all backward.

"It isn't my fault you've shown up early," Clara points out, busy checking her hair in the mirror.

He glares at her in the reflection, but she seems nonplussed. And then he has an idea.

"How about we just pop off now for a bit? A quick jaunt, seeing as I'm here, and then I'll drop you off, quick as you like."

She looks wary, and perhaps rightfully so, given his somewhat erratic approach to timekeeping in the past. Her large eyes narrow, almost down to a normal size.

"Can you promise - _promise,_ Doctor - that you will get me back on time?"

"Hand on my hearts," he says, not actually moving his hands at all, although he feels his shoulder tense awaiting her answer. 

__She smiles slowly, slyly, like she's discovered a secret, and he feels maybe he's missed something obvious, stupid old Doctor, but then she is nodding yes, and the thought is forgotten._ _

__"The Diamond Plains of Blahoon then? Or shall we go more traditional and try the Madagascan fjords?"_ _

__"Madagascar doesn't have fjords," Clara replies, already in front of him and pushing the door of the TARDIS open with her tiny bejewelled fingers. He can barely suppress the satisfaction that swells in his hearts as he steals her out of her own time and into his._ _

__"It does in the 31st century," he says, closing the door behind them. He is rewarded with her broad smile._ _

__\--_ _

__He returns her five of their hours later, but still in time for her date, looking less dishevelled than he'd hoped. But he's kept his promise, like he said he would, and the smug knowledge of his theft of her is still warming his blood._ _

__He knows it is petty, perhaps, revelling in his ability to distract her from some other man. Clara is her own woman, and is not a thing to be possessed or owned, but there is still a part of him that resents her interest and time spent elsewhere. There is only so much he can do for her own good ("Clara, I'm not your boyfriend") before his innate selfishness rears its ugly head again._ _

__She looks exhausted, stifling a yawn behind the back of her hand. He smothers another surge of triumph._ _

__"Home again, as promised!" he crows, wanting her to bask in his impressiveness. For once, she seems inclined, like she's on the verge of hugging him again, but no no no, that is definitely not good. He can't bear the press of her against him, the overwhelming sense of her body aligned with his is just far too much. He sidesteps around the console just to pre-emptively thwart any ideas she might have._ _

__"When will I see you again?" she queries, eyes sharp but smiling. She always asks him now, ever since he's been a bit rubbish at finding Wednesdays sometimes, and especially since that three-weeks-since-Glasgow incident that she's never quite let him forget._ _

__"Soon," he responds. "I daresay soon."_ _

__"Not Friday," she waves her palms at him, an aborted warning. "I have plans on Friday."_ _

__"Not Friday then," he echoes, letting the information slide in one ear and gracefully out the other._ _

__"See you later," she calls out, her small steps soft as she goes, and the console room feels all the more larger after her departure. The lights dim too, like she takes the brightness with her, and if the Doctor had to say, he'd guess that his machine misses Clara's presence too._ _

__"Enjoy your date!" he shouts out after her, although he's not sure his contempt for the idea has been entirely filtered out of his tone. He flicks the nearest lever, puts his hands in his trouser pockets and ponders his new course._ _

__\--_ _

__He shows up on Friday, of course he does. He pretends he's forgotten that she had plans, that eons of time has passed for him, but the Doctor isn't sure she believes him. And although she makes a song and dance about his inconvenient arrival, there are fish people on the agenda, and she's too intrigued to say no._ _

__It's a success apart from the drenching, but she laughs long and loud nevertheless, both at herself and at him. He would have thought she'd mind more, considering the circumstances, but she is buoyant, and it is infectious. Her hand curls around his sleeve, and it feels white hot to him, even though she's not even touching his skin, but he allows it because how can he not? Their shoulders press side by side as they watch the local inhabitants, and her eyes are like stars, bright and new and always beautiful to him._ _

__His timing in returning her is reasonably accurate this time too, but he's still a thief, and she's still happy to be stolen, and so he can't find the guilt within him to worry about it._ _

__\--_ _

__He knows he is pushing his luck this time, but he wouldn't have come if he hadn't needed her. He needs Clara a lot these days, can't do without her really. He tries to travel on his own, sometimes succeeds, but it is never quite the same without her to push him, make him better, and so the rest of the time he just tinkers around in the TARDIS, reading and scribbling and trying not to jump ahead to their next adventure._ _

__But Clara will understand, he tells himself, walking into the restaurant as if it is a completely normal thing to do. He needs her help, and she should be flattered, surely? He could turn to anyone, a genius like him, and yet here he is asking Clara Oswald for his help. Now, what teacher could resist, he thinks._ _

__But she does resist, quite vehemently, it seems. Apparently he is 'distracting' and 'insane' when he tries to motion her over from her table. He can't see her companion, body hidden behind a pillar, but something in him doesn't want to. Doesn't want to see the competition, maybe. If this was a competition, that is._ _

__"You can't be here," she hisses, taking a momentarily glance over her shoulder, a fact which annoys him more than it should._ _

__"And yet I am here," he replies snidely, unable to help himself._ _

__Her hands grip his elbows, like she is going to forcibly eject him from the restaurant if she has her way. ""Go!" she orders. "You have all the time in the world, why now?"__

"I need your help," he says, voice low, twisting out of her rather tight grip. He towers over her, even when she's wearing those stupid shoes. Her face is so coloured in, and he hates it, doesn't understand why she feels she has to do that to herself. 

__"You need my help?" she echoes, syllables sliding over the words in a way that can't quite mask her curiosity._ _

__"I always need your help, Clara," he responds, pressing against her ego in the most effective way he knows how. Their eyes meet, and her mouth twitches up._ _

__"Oh, but just quickly then," she relents in a tone that doesn't make it sound like much of a hardship at all. There is no glance back at her invisible dining companion as they sneak out the side entrance, his hand pressed softly on her lower back._ _

__\--_ _

__"You can't keep showing up like this!" she says one day, and he thinks he has finally been rumbled. "You are doing it on purpose!"_ _

__It is lucky this face is good at indignant. "The TARDIS is stroppy about something. She's refusing to land me anywhere on time!" He lies and lies and lies, but he can't help it. He is already a thief, so what is one more crime to add to his ever-growing list?_ _

__Clara doesn't quite believe him, he's sure. She's too smart for that, but she's also aware that there is no way to call him out on it either without opening up a whole other conversation that neither of them are quite ready for._ _

__"I'll wait until you come home," he offers this time, feeling a shade of guilt slide over his conscience. "I won't go anywhere, just stay here. Reorganise your closet, or something."__

Her eyebrows raise, probably both in skepticism and horror. "You'll do no such thing," she says, pulling him off his perch at the end of her bed with such force that he has to physically stop himself from slamming into her small body. There is an awkward silence as they both gauge their sudden proximity to each other, and Clara releases her fingers from his jacket. 

__"Where did you have in mind anyway?" she asks casually, flicking her hair out of her eyes and not quite meeting his own._ _

__"Hadn't thought about it," he admits, truthfully for once. "Thought we'd just take a spin. Relax."_ _

__He's testing her, he knows, even though it will kill him if she fails. But he knows her too, knows Clara Oswald, and has faith in the fact that what he offers her has never been just about the places they travel to._ _

__She tilts her head, studying him, always a teacher even when she's not. Her nose is still funny from this angle, but he knows that he likes it, whatever he might say to her face._ _

__"That sounds nice," she says. "Just you and me."_ _

__He nods, swallows the lump that might be forming at the base of his throat._ _

__"Shall we just pop off now?" she says, a glint in her eye, and rocking on her toes. "Back in time for tea?"_ _

__He smirks. "You're the boss."_ _

__Not to mention a sun that he will orbit for as long as he can._ _

__\--_ _

__She doesn't elaborate on her dates, and he never deems to ask her. A fleeting mention is already too much for him to bear sometimes, and so he just grumbles on as if he hasn't heard her, sets the next course._ _

__He makes her miss one once, accidentally-but-entirely-on-purpose. She's furious and he's furious because she is so furious about it. Since when had this unknown and unnamed person become so important? Since when had these dates taken such precedent in Clara's life? And in that case, what was he going to do about it?_ _

__\--_ _

__In the end, it wasn't planned. Not that he could ever plan something like that, even though he wasn't going to lie - he had _thought_ about it. But thinking about something and planning it are two entirely different things in his book, and so when he feels the touch of her mouth against his, he has no plan in mind whatsoever._ _

__Maybe if he had, his actions would have made sense to him. But as it was, one moment they are bickering about who was at fault for their latest disastrous adventure, and then the next, he was kissing her and she wasn't stopping him._ _

__It was strange, so very strange, he thought. He hadn't kissed anyone with these lips, and if he had his way, he didn't intend to kiss anyone else with them apart from her. The realisation jarred him._ _

__His body burned with her touch, even through his clothes, like he was on the verge of regenerating again - that golden heat, breaking him down bit by bit and then rebuilding him. It itched inside of him, a coiled spring, tense with all the reasons he should stop, and all the reasons why he didn't think he could._ _

__It surprises him that she doesn't resist, even though at this stage he is still not even totally sure who initiated this in the first place. She's so tiny, so small, so fragile, and that scares him. Her human-ness scares him. His hands reach out of their own volition, pulling her closer and closer, and it isn't until the TARDIS settles them down with a hard bump that they jerk apart, breath heavy, pupils blown and awkward silence settling over them._ _

__"Uh, I'll... see you soon?" she offers eventually, hands fiddling with her shirt cuffs, eyes meeting his and then quickly darting away to her shoes._ _

__"Of course," he hears himself saying, like the answer would be anything else, like he was ever going to be able to stay away from her now. "Soon."_ _

__"Or later?"_ _

__"Definitely soon."_ _

__\--_ _

__It all goes horribly wrong from there, because that is his life and since when has that ever been smooth sailing? Not that his history with Clara could in anyway ever be mistaken for smooth sailing, but it was infinitely preferable to the alternative._ _

She'd picked a solider. Of all things, a _soldier_. And she had declared that she loved him. 

__Well, wasn't that just perfect then._ _

__\--_ _

__He is a thief, but he's lost his grip on her heart, which is unfair considering how much her grip on his has never relented, not for one second, even despite his protests, his lies to himself. It's his own fault he knows, for pushing her away, for his demeanour, for his new and older face. She says its not, but they never had this problem before, did they? Before he changed his face and his everything else, but never the way he felt about her, not ever._ _

__And so he continues to steal her, in small ways, persistent ways that he tries to use to heal himself. These are his little triumphs in the big massive failure that he's made of their relationship._ _

__The one thing that doesn't change is her mouth on his, hard, urgent, and definitely surprising. Given everything that has gone on, and is going on, it was the last thing he expected. And so he steals that too, takes what she offers, regardless of the terms._ _

__He is sure that these moments are pure madness, but he somehow innately knows that part of their occurrence is down to the unspoken condition that they will never talk about it, never mention the way she gasps against him, the way his hand traces the curve of her spine. He tries to convince himself it is charity on her part, like a concession she offers for hurting him, but that's not Clara, not his Clara, and so her reasons remain a mystery to him, much like her heart._ _

__So he keeps taking what he can from her, not her love because he knows he has lost that, but her presence, her time, her body. He doesn't shy away from her touch now. Now it is a craving, although he won't let her know it. He's already completely lost in her, but he refuses to lose his dignity too._ _

__\--_ _

__He takes drastic measures and stays away for a month. It is long and hard and he recklessly throws himself headlong into more danger than ever before. He needs to be distracted from his need of her, but her absence is louder than anything else that rattles around his head._ _

__He's old and bitter, he knows, and he resents Danny Pink more than he can put into words. In other circumstances he may have liked him, may have been able to look past the fact that he was a soldier, but Danny is a fellow thief too, and at the moment he has the most precious of things._ _

__\--_ _

__She is furious with him when he eventually shows up at her flat one Thursday night. She is thankfully alone, and he's grateful for that at least._ _

__"Where the hell have you been?" The words escape between her clenched teeth, small fists curled at her sides, clearly resisting the urge to slap him. "Do you think this is a game?"_ _

__Her astute observation flusters him, but he's also still angry with himself for treating her this way. She isn't a puzzle, the prize at the end of the road. She's Clara, she's everything, even if he can't have her._ _

__"I just needed some time," he replies flatly, knowing his answer will be inadequate to her. From her expression he knows this hasn't placated her, and his hearts wilt, even as his body remains as unyielding as steel._ _

__She punches him hard in the arm this time, unable to resist any longer. "You have a time machine, you idiot! I've been so worried!"_ _

__His eyebrows raise despite himself, and he takes in the underlying concern that mingles with the annoyance on her face. "Worried? Why would you worry about me?" He tries to make it sound dismissive, over-confident, but instead he just sounds pathetic, lost._ _

__Her expression softens, head tilting to one side in that way she has. He longs to touch her, but won't, not until she reaches for him first._ _

__"I've missed you," she smiles kindly, her hand curling around that spot on his sleeve that feels bare without her clinging there. "Now, take me somewhere, Time Lord."_ _

__\--_ _

__They fly, they fly and fly and fly, and it is days and days before he even thinks he should return her home, back to her life. She seems disinclined to leave his side, like he might vanish on her again._ _

__"I suppose I should get you back," he says eventually, reluctantly. He is praying that she refuses, but somehow he knows she won't. Clara likes her human life, likes compartmentalising it all, and this is the longest she has stayed with him in quite some time._ _

__He lands her an hour after they left, that same Thursday night, and waits for her to take her leave of him. He hears her footsteps before he sees her, and then feels the way her hands slide inside his jacket, palms smoothing along his shirt covered waist. Her touch is still warm through the material, his skin flushes in reaction. He hopes she doesn't notice.__

"So eager to get rid of me?" she asks, her forehead pressed against his breastbone, his hearts thundering at the feeling. 

__He shakes his head, even though she isn't looking at him. "No," he murmurs, his own hands moving to touch her hair, to tuck the stray tendrils behind her ears._ _

__They don't say anything for long moments. The only sound is the TARDIS' low hum, lulling him into a peacefulness despite the knife edge on which they seem to be balancing.__

Finally she looks up, eyes sad and confused and he feels the question before she asks it. 

__"Don't disappear on me again, okay?"_ _

__He wants to say 'never', because that is the truth she wants to hear. But he also knows that if his absence was the best thing for her, if it kept her safe, he would do it. He knows he has been selfish so far, perhaps has not taken heed of this, but he's pragmatic too._ _

__"I can't promise that," he says, voice low, heavy with so many things he can't really say._ _

__She pushes away from him then, hurt and angry, it seems. He feels she is always angry at him, no matter what he does._ _

__He wants to tell her what is in his heart, the truth hidden right down in the depths of it that he has tried to smother. That leaving her would ruin him, that he would return to a cloud, live out his days alone, in order to survive it. But he'd do it, if she asked him to. If she sent him away and truly meant it. If she married Danny, if she wanted that human life, that normal life that he couldn't give her._ _

__Perhaps she can read this in his face, all these scenarios that haunt him constantly. Clara stares at him, those wide all-seeing eyes, and he knows that she knows him, more than anyone has ever known him, and so that means that she may even understand._ _

__She reaches for him, and it is not soft this time, not sweet. Her mouth is harsh, unyielding, and her teeth are sharp on his lip, like she wants to hurt him for daring to think the truth of their situation. Yes, one day she will leave him. Not today, not tomorrow, but human life is what it is and the thought almost doubles him over._ _

__"I won't accept it," she murmurs against his mouth, her hands tangling around his neck, fingers pressed to the nape. He can't resist her, never will be able to, and so when she starts to push his jacket from his shoulders, he lets it fall, heavy on the console floor._ _

__This is new, he thinks, somewhere in the fog of his brain. He should be able to mentally break through it, but she is everywhere and everything, and her urgency is bleeding into him._ _

__He untucks her blouse, palms finding the skin at the swell of her waist, touching and tracing until she is keening against him, pressed so close that they are practically one person. Her tongue chases his, forceful and quick and her hands are half way down the front of his shirt, button after button falling apart under her fingertips._ _

__"Doctor," she sighs against him, noses sliding side by side, and it is a fire in his bones the way she says his name. She is already wiggling out of her skirt, before he can even put a stop to this, but if he's honest he's not sure he could, not with her looking at him like that, touching him like that. He picks her up, spinning her quickly, and perches her on the edge of the console._ _

There is fumbling and urgent sighs, and it is perfect when they finally join together, her skin hot against his. Her bra is still on in their haste, his trousers not even removed. He _fucks_ her. He wishes he could pretend otherwise, that they were _making love_ , or some other more eloquent phrasing. But no, it is about possession, hers of him and his of her. It is hard and desperate, and as soon as he had stepped between her bare legs, his mind was lost completely. 

__The way she gasps his name is music to him, the most beautiful thing he has ever heard, and if this is his only chance to ever feel her like this, then he does not want to forget one detail. Her nails score down his back, the edges smarting on his skin. With every kiss she moves him tighter, deeper, like she's claiming her ownership of him, and maybe she is but he doesn't care._ _

__"More, more, more," she keeps muttering, biting her lip, her nose pressed hard into the curve of his jaw. Her hot breath on his bare neck is doing things to him that he never thought possible. He doesn't want to hurt her, but her legs sink tight around his hips, pulling him in closer and closer, as they set a frantic rhythm that soon has her arching and crying out._ _

__He follows quickly after, her name sliding off his lips like a prayer, heavy and golden and full of all the things he knows he can never truly say._ _

__"Promise?" she asks again, breathless and frazzled, her small hands tracing impatiently up his arms, cupping his face, forcing him to look at her._ _

__He would have promised her anything in that moment, and so does._ _

__\--_ _

__She's uneasy the next time she sees him, but not for the reason he would have thought._ _

__"Danny wants me to stop travelling with you," she blurts out after he spins them off into the vortex. She is pressed against the far railing, as if sensing how this will displease him and wanting to keep her distance. But somehow he feels relieved, like the sword dangling above his head had finally dropped. Now he does not have to anticipate its mortal strike any more._ _

__He moves around the console, stopping gracefully in front of her, but far enough to be out of her grasp. "And what do _you_ want?"_ _

__Clara looks up from her hands, from the ring she had been twisting around her pinky finger. She seems surprised by his question. "You are the first person who has asked me what I want." A sad smile lingers on her lips, before sliding away. She sighs._ _

__"And?" he prompts, pushing his hands deep down in his pockets. He knows he is terrified of the answer, but this time he knows he won't manipulate it._ _

__Silence._ _

__"Do you _love_ him?" he pushes, wanting for her to just end his agony as soon as possible. She will try and find a way to save his feelings, he knows, because she is kind like that, but for once, he just needs the wound to be ripped open so he can get on with the business of healing it again._ _

__"Yes," she practically whispers, the guilt heavy in her voice, like she knows she is confessing something that she shouldn't._ _

_Do you love me?_ he silently asks, but can't bring himself to say out loud. It isn't fair of him to ask that of her, but somehow she still knows, like she always does. 

__"But I love you too," she says, giving voice to his greatest desire, even if he hadn't quite known it until then. "It is a different kind of love, but it is still as true and as strong as anything I feel for Danny."_ _

__The soldier's name echoes through the cavernous room, like a unwelcome third presence, another thief._ _

__The Doctor finds himself speechless, lost. "Oh," he manages to breathe out eventually, as she steps towards him, the familiar curl of her fingers on his jacket._ _

__"Did you doubt it? That I love you?" Clara questions, gazing up at him with such concern that he feels uncomfortable under her scrutiny. He doesn't answer, but he doesn't need to._ _

__She sighs again, moves away from his silence, tracing her hand around the console like she wants to memorise it. Like she will not see it again. It jars him, but this is the one thing he can do for her. He can let her go._ _

__"I can't give you what he can give you," he says eventually, his voice loud in the silent room. Even the TARDIS seems to be holding her breath._ _

__"And he can't give me what you can give me," she retorts sharply, as if his attempt to sacrifice her is offensive to her. She moves out of view, around the other side of the console, and the reappears, gaze steady on him._ _

__"I won't grow old with you." His tone is frank, honest, because he needs her to understand all sides to this, to not romanticise the life he leads._ _

__"You're already old," Clara points out, a barely repressed smile on her beautiful lips. He scowls, before playing his final card._ _

__"He loves you," his mouth twists bitterly, as if the truth is sour on his tongue._ _

__She is on him now, having completed her lap on the console. They stand in front of each other, and his heart is in his mouth. It takes everything in his power to not step towards her._ _

__Her eyes are stars, deep and dark and endless. "You love me," she says, and it is a statement, not a question, but he answers it anyway._ _

__"Yes," he exhales, long and deep and full of desire._ _

__"Well then," she smiles, her face tilting up to his, her body pressing closer, his following automatically. "Where to next, Doctor?"_ _

__\--_ _


End file.
